


Learning to Fly

by gatoradedays



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No one dies don't worry, Shooting, Trauma, gunman, parent victuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9153730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatoradedays/pseuds/gatoradedays
Summary: "From the corner of his eye, he saw what looked like gunsmoke on the opposite end of the rink. Before he knew it he grasped the nearest edge of the wall and leapt over it. He slipped over the other side onto the hard ground, gasping for air as it was ripped out of him by the impact. Just as he hit the ground, another bang sounded. A gunshot."A warning that there will be descriptions of shootings and gunmen throughout this piece.





	1. Chapter 1

Making sure the braids of blond hair were securely in place, Yuri Plisetsky began walking out to the ice for his free skate program, the crowd roaring in response. The  Russian skater took confident steps; he knew that he belonged here. No longer a small fifteen year old, Plisetsky grew in height, muscle, and hair length, but his temper remained the same. The costume he wore displayed the change, drawing attention to his broader torso and his lithe waist. The outfit was a deep shade of red, with grey and black tendrils reaching around from his back to grasp his chest, while black vines wrapped around his legs. The costume was beautiful, and his routine matched. With four quads planned, the program was ambitious, but so was he. His coaches, Lilia and Yakov, strode behind him, at ease knowing that Yuri’s short program had already put him well above the other competitors.

“Yuri! Good luck!” called the familiar voices of Yuuri and Victor from the stands.

The two had insisted upon coming to Moscow for this competition, despite his numerous protests. Thankfully, they were staying in a separate hotel room than him. Still, as loud and annoying as they were, Yuri was thankful that they supported him and tried to fill the hole that his Grandpa left when he passed. Piggy and Victor had stepped into a role that Yuri had never had filled before,  his parents. Yuri would never admit this aloud but although not official, the two were the closest thing to parents that he had ever had. The two skaters were retired from competing, but they toured around the world for exhibitions and Yuri’s own competitions. With one Olympic gold under his belt, Yuri was hungry for more.

Yuri glided to  the center of the rink and paused in front of the judges, waiting for the music to begin. As soon as he heard the crash of percussion he leapt into the air to start explosively with a triple toe, triple lutz combo. He whipped around the rink, going for a quad that would follow into a spin. The low-stringed instruments bellowed deep throughout the arena as he  skated to perfection. His mind left his body while the music swept him into this dance. He was a well-oiled machine who had earned a multitude of gold medals and this performance would lead to another one.

Suddenly, he was yanked out of his haven by three loud, sharp bangs. People all around him began to scream in terror, their cries far different than the cheers that he had just been receiving. Although he normally did not pay attention to the audience, this sudden change caused him to halt mid-spin and bring both feet back down onto the ice. He ceased almost all movement, whipping his head around to try to figure out what was going on.

“Yuri, get off of the ice!” he could hear Yakov scream.

What was happening? From the corner of his eye, he saw what looked like gunsmoke on the opposite end of the rink. Without thinking, he grasped the nearest edge of the wall and leapt over it. He slipped onto the hard ground, gasping for air as it was ripped out of him by the impact. Just as he hit the ground, another bang echoed through the arena. A gunshot. Yuri curled up in himself, trying to shrink away, to be anywhere but where he was currently. Any more gunshots would fall upon deaf ears.

His eyes flitted around, looking for the danger. The people who once sat in this section were gone and Yuri could see stuffed animals and flowers that got left behind in the chaos. A small, plush orange lion lay in front of Yuri. Reaching out hesitantly, he grasped one of its legs and pulled it towards him, cradling it into his chest.

Just out of his peripheral vision, a hand shot forward to grab his bicep. Jolting, Yuri looked up, expecting to see the barrel of a gun. Conflicting thoughts told him to squint his eyes shut, that if he couldn’t see the gun, then death would be quick and painless; another thought told him to fight. Struggling, he chose to simply keep his eyes open as he prepared to look into the face of death. Instead, he was met with a face with wide, blue, eyes and tears streaming down a pale face. _Victor_. He could see his mouth moving, forming words that Yuri just couldn’t hear. He shook his head, trying to tell the man that he couldn’t understand.

The silver-haired man just nodded and leaned down to pick up the trembling blond. Although Yuri had indeed grown over the years, he had not surpassed Victor, who was now carrying him to an exit. He fell limp, curling into the familial presence with the lion still in his arms. He blocked out the people around him once they got outside, Victor acting as a shield between the world and him.

The smell of sweat and gunpowder reached his nostrils, the sour smell making him bury his head further into Victor. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out everything and pretend that the last however-many-minutes were just a nightmare. He found himself thinking of a moment years ago on a rooftop in Barcelona, with the smell of coffee and leather and the memory of warm, brown eyes.

 

As Victor looked down at the younger man, he felt his anxiety decrease immediately. He had left his husband outside while he  had run back inside. The other Russian had last seen Yuri halted on the ice, blank terror and confusion on his face. Sighing, Victor continued to carry him outside, humming an old Russian lullaby to try and calm Yuri.

As he handed Yuri off to the paramedics who would check him over, Victor took out his cell phone to search for a less familiar contact. Clicking on the name and raising the phone to his ear, he glanced back at Yuri as he walked to a quieter spot. After a single ring his call was answered. Before Victor could open his mouth, a rough voice on the other end of the line spoke.

“I’m on my way.”

 

~

 

Aside from bruising where he had hit the floor and the possibility of severe psychological trauma, Yuri was fine. Still in shock, the paramedics had wrapped him in a warm blanket and handed him off to Yakov, Lilia, Yuuri, and Victor. There was no word on the shooters but thankfully, no one had died. The most severe injury was a man who had been trampled trying to protect his kid, and he suffered from a few broken bones. The competition was cancelled and the skaters were sent home. Everyone in attendance was given a notice to stay in the area while police questioned them. Yuri had been unable to answer questions with complete sentences; the most that he could do was give little nods and shakes of his head. His eyes remained downcast, staring at his skates.

“Were you shot?” one officer questioned him. He shook his head.

“Did you see the gunmen?”

Another shake.

“Mr. Plisetsky, please give us anything you feel will help.”

It was at this moment that piggy came to his rescue. “Sir, with all due respect, Yurio is in shock right now and cannot answer your questions,” he said, leading Yuri away with a gentle hand.

“We will be in touch,” was all the police said in response.

Yuri allowed himself to be hugged and led away by Yuuri. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, bringing the blanket in closer. Although he wasn’t responsive, he did not miss how Victor leaned into his husband’s ear.

“He’s coming,” was all that he heard.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Music surrounded him as he swept across the ice. The crowd watched him in awe, marvelling at the multi-time grand champion. He was an unstoppable force and nothing would ever deny him of his beauty and power. Leaps and twists filled his routine; the spins and step sequences entranced the audience. Swinging his arms up above him, he flew above the ice in a graceful arc, twisting and spiraling in a feat of athleticism. A single, sharp bang sounded just as he landed, and he met the cold, unforgiving ground with a thud. Excruciating pain shot through his abdomen as the bullet travelled through his right side. Hot, crimson blood began to pool around the skater as he tried to put pressure on the wound but it was only staining his hands red. He felt warm tears running down his cheeks. In his last moments, he stared at the vaulted ceiling of the rink, focused on each breath.  _

_ One. _

_ Two. _

_ Yuri Plisetsky was dead on the ice. _

 

He jolted forward with a start, gasping for air. Wild eyes frantically searched the scene. He was in a hotel room in Moscow. His bed was in the far left corner next to the window, bright moonlight illuminating the otherwise dark room. His leopard-patterned luggage was next to the door. His jacket, backpack, and shoes sat on the floor next to a small desk. During the night, he must’ve had fought like an animal because his pillows and blankets were strewn about on the floor. To his right was a nightstand. Fumbling, he turned on the lamp and read the alarm clock.  _ 3 a.m.  _ He had barely slept for an hour.

His hands gripped his shoulders as he curled into a fetal position. He was okay, he wasn’t hurt, no one was dead. He was surprised to bring a hand to his cheek and feel that it was wet. Oh, he was crying. Anxiety filled his chest and Yuri began drowning in it. His hands trembled and the tears weren’t stopping. He wanted to run away, to scream and release whatever emotion had possessed him.

Suddenly, he found himself dreaming of a blue and gold jacket, a dark undercut, and a tea shop in Barcelona. The tears flowed freely down his face, leaving marks on his knees. Why was he crying? He was the Ice Tiger of Russia, a multi-time gold medalist. He hadn’t been hurt yesterday. He was fine. So why were tears falling down his face in torrents that didn’t seem to stop? Why couldn’t he breathe properly?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. He quickly wiped his eyes and furiously tried to make himself somewhat-presentable. All he wanted was to be left alone. Standing on shaky legs, he went to open the door. It was probably Yakov or Victor, possibly even Lilia. He would tell them that he was fine and that he just wanted to go home. They wouldn’t ask questions if they thought he was fine. 

Turning the knob, he brought his head up to meet the eyes of whomever was at the door. His green eyes found warm brown ones. Yuri had a sharp intake of breath, not believing his eyes. He hadn’t seen him in months because of their filled schedules, only talking to each other briefly at competitions and the occasional chat on social media. Otabek stood at the door, chest heaving from running to Yuri’s room.

“Yura..” he wheezed.

Yuri couldn’t speak, simply allowing himself to be embraced in the familiar scent and being. He had so many questions, yet none of them were as important as the man in front of him. The Kazakh wrapped his muscular arms around the taller man, squeezing him as though his life depended on it.

“I was-,” Otabek started out in Russian, his rough voice quiet and cracking, “I was so afraid that you had been hurt. Watching on the TV I heard the gunshots and… and everything cut out. I was so scared Yura.”

The older skater felt his shirt becoming wet with the other’s tears, tears that Yuri tried so hard to stop. The younger clutched the shorter man, saying nothing. Otabek could feel him shaking and he noted a few tears slipping out of his own red-rimmed eyes.

“I’m okay,” Yuri said.

Otabek scoffed and buried his nose into the long, blond hair. “Like hell you are, Yura.”

Otabek lifted the other skater into his arms and carried him back into his room. Even though Yuri has grown much over the years, he was still easy to pick up. He placed Yuri on the bed and stood up, aiming to go sit on the chair in the corner of the room. Just as he began to move forward, a pale hand shot forward to grab his jacket.

“Don’t leave me,” a cracked voice said, barely audible.

“I won’t,” came the deep reply.

He sat back on Yuri’s bed, leaning against the pillows, noting a stuffed lion propped against the nightstand. Cradling the Russian to his chest, he stroked his tangled, blond hair. It was a mess, some of the braid falling out while others clung to each other in knots. Otabek ran his hand through it, relief settling throughout him knowing that his overgrown-cat was okay. Well, physically okay.

Yuri was silent. His sobbing had ceased for now. There were no more tears left. He tried to breathe deeply, inhaling the familiar scent that was Otabek: leather and coffee. Even a five-hour plane ride from Almaty to Moscow would not change that. Luckily, Otabek had caught the last flight to Moscow before all travel was suspended. The two didn’t utter a word, finding comfort in the other’s presence. 

“I was so scared, Yura,” Otabek whispered. “If you had gotten hurt, hell, I wouldn’t know what to do. I was so scared, I didn’t want to imagine a world where you weren’t there.”

Unable to respond, Yuri buried deeper into Otabek’s chest. He was never good with words, always relying on skating to express his feelings. When sentences failed, his movements could communicate the message. 

In this moment, the younger skater didn’t know that he felt unsafe until he felt completely secure in Otabek’s embrace. He didn’t know that, maybe, he wasn’t completely fine. There were still a lot of things that Yuri didn’t know, but he did know that Otabek would be there for him. 

After about an hour and a half, Otabek finally broke the comfortable silence.

“Yura, you should try to sleep.”

“Already tried. Not gonna work.”

“Yura…” Otabek only used that tone when Yuri was incredibly frustrated and angry, or he was on the verge of a complete breakdown.

He was silent for a few moments and Otabek was about to tell him to sleep again when the Russian spoke. “Only if you promise to stay here with me.”

A soft smile appeared on Otabek’s face. “I won’t leave you, I promise.”

 

Later that night, the door quietly creaked open and two faces peered inside. Victor and Yuuri glanced into the dark room and upon seeing Yuri draped over Otabek like he was still a small teenager, quietly shut the door again. Yuri’s face had been buried into Otabek’s chest, curled on top of the other skater despite being taller. 

“I’m glad he’s here,” Yuuri whispered.

“I am too. I’m scared for Yurio, but hopefully Otabek can fix the trauma of yesterday.” 

Victor bit his lip anxiously.

“If Otabek can’t do it, no one can,” Yuuri reminded.

“I know, and that’s what I’m scared of.”

“Have faith in Otabek. Have faith in Yurio. Knowing them, they’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

Victor smiled at his husband, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. “You’re right.”

“I know.”

 

~

 

The next morning, Otabek awoke to blond hair tickling his nose. Confused, he tried to sit up, forgetting that there was weight draped across him. A light blush decorated the Kazakh’s face when he saw how Yuri was positioned on him. He relished in the fact that Yuri was physically fine, however, Yuri’s mind was far from okay. 

Reaching over to unplug his phone, he was careful not to disturb the Russian. He quietly Googled some things that he thought would get Yuri back to normal. Things that they could do, places they could go and see. He started by renting a motorcycle. 

As pale sunlight began to stream through the gaps in the curtain, Yuri started to stir. Groaning, he curled closer to the warmth and attempted to go back to sleep.

“I forget you aren’t a morning person.”

Yuri slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the source of the voice. “Fuck off.”

“Come on, get up. I want to do something with you today.” Otabek laughed as Yuri shut his eyes again.

At this Yuri sat up, propping his head on Otabek’s chest. “What are you talking about,” he slurred.

“We are going to tour the city, and before you say you have been here before, I have never gone sight-seeing. So that’s what we are going to do. Then, we are going to the Red Square to go ice skating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank Rachel, my awesome beta, who helped me out with this chapter and has just been an awesome partner with this story. 
> 
> This is my first fic so leave comments, criticisms, critiques, etc...  
> My tumblr is yuriplijetskis


	3. Chapter 3

The lights of the city filtered down upon the two skaters, illuminating their eyes in wonder. Everything was surreal, the bustling crowds that parted slightly for them, the dull roar of the cars, the smell of pastries from a nearby bakery. Soft smiles were on both faces despite the tragedy that had occurred the day prior, although one pair of eyes was uncharacteristically duller than before. The taller, blonde skater was walking closer to the other, nearly pressed against their side. He was known to be clingy towards his partner but only out of the eyes of the public. To anyone else, everything would appear to be normal, but his partner was no ordinary person. While still gazing in awe at the city around them (one considerably more so than the other) the past day’s tragedy still lingered on both minds.

  
By the time that they had finished sight-seeing, it was nearing the eighth hour and night had fallen upon the city. The blond led the way to the Red Square, a palace of ice in the center of the city. Lights danced across the ice, casting shadows on the people skating across it. Above them, the stars sparkled against the dark sky. The shorter of the two cast an anxious glance at his friend, checking to see if all was well. If something was wrong, the taller didn’t show it.  
The pair walked down to the rink, pulling skates out of their respective bags. Slipping them on, they shuffled towards the ice. At the hour that it was, the only people still on the ice were a handful of couples, but the ice was otherwise clear for their use. The darker haired man led the way to the ice, slipping onto the clear surface. He paused, looking back at the other. The blond was frozen at the entrance to the rink, staring into space.

  
“Yura,” he called out.

  
When the younger did not snap out of his trance, he reached forward to gently grasp his arm. As soon as his hand made contact, the Russian jerked back violently, gasping out of his trance. He took a step backward, falling onto the bench.

  
“Beka...Beka, I can’t do it. Please don’t make me,” he whispered hoarsely, trembling. His breathing hitched as he had a death grip on his seat.

  
“Yura, it’s okay. You’re safe; I won’t make you do anything, ever.”

  
Stray tears slipped down Yuri’s face, and Otabek was thankful for the mostly empty rink. He slowly approached Yuri as if one would approach a wild animal, hesitant and careful, wrapping his arms around his friend.  
“I’ve got you, no one can hurt you.”

  
“Beka,” the other sobbed brokenly, clutching his friend.

  
Otabek didn’t care about the tear stains on his shirt, even as the other buried his face into his chest.

After about ten minutes, the younger calmed down. He lifted his head up, looking Otabek in his dark brown eyes.

  
“I want to go on the ice,” he said confidently.

  
Otabek looked up, expression halted in surprise. “You know you don’t have to, it will be okay.”

“No, Otabek,” he said as his partner startled, unused to hearing his full name from the other’s lips. Not that he was thinking about his friend’s lips.

  
“Alright then.”

He slowly got up, the younger trailing not far behind him. He stepped onto the ice, keeping a watchful eye on Yuri, who was hesitating again at the entrance to the ice. The taller gingerly stepped out onto the ice, eyes shut tight. Otabek stepped forward and grasped the other's’ hand to let him know that he was there. Slowly, Yuri placed both feet on the ice. He opened his eyes, taking in everything around him.

  
The two of them stood there for they had all of the time in the world. Yuri was glancing all around him, taking deep breaths of cool, clear air. All the while, Otabek was just looking at him. He told himself that he was only looking at his friend to make sure that he was okay, that if Otabek needed to get him off of the ice, he would do so. Not just for the way that his friend’s pale skin looked in the lights of the city; not the way that his green eyes sparkled, marvelling at the ice around them.  
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he was met with those same piercing eyes. Yuri clutched his hand as if he was learning how to skate for the first time, gliding forward little by little. Otabek went right with him. If Yuri held onto him the entire time, that was fine by him.

  
Little by little, the younger man would shuffle forward, his fists clenched with white knuckles on Otabek’s jacket. Every time a sudden noise would come from around them, he would startle and look around like a cornered beast, and each time that happened, Otabek would place an arm on Yuri’s shoulder and breathe with him until all was well. Eventually, Yuri worked up to skating around the rink, doing small spins or hops. His long hair twirled around him, and by the end of the night he was beginning to completely enjoy himself, losing himself in the casual skating that set him free.

As the pair lost themselves in slow loops around the rink, they lost track of time as well, and soon the manager was yelling at them to get off of the ice. They trekked back to the hotel, Yuri still tucked into Otabek’s side, part of the shorter’s jacket wrapped around him as he hunched forward.

  
“Thank you,” he whispered softly.

  
Otabek just looked at him, a small smile on his face, and he didn’t need to say a thing. Warmth filled the hearts of the two skaters and they reached their hotel in a state of content peace.

  
They stayed that way as they rode the elevator to the room and the small metal box did nothing to help the thoughts of kissing Yuri like his life depended on it, thankful when they got to the hotel room. Silence wrapped around the two as their steps almost seeming ingrained in their very DNA. They changed into their pajamas, loose tiger-print boxers and a nearly transparent white t-shirt for Yuri while Otabek had plain black boxers with an old navy shirt. Tucking under the covers, Yuri immediately curled into Otabek’s side, splaying one of his legs across the other’s and reaching an arm across so that half of his chest was on Otabek’s. However, the older man did not complain. Instead, he simply pet the golden strands that fell out of the loose ponytail that Yuri had put it in. The thick strands fell through his fingers easily, reflecting any light source that danced across them.

  
Slowly, the younger’s breaths evened out and he soft, purr-like snores could be heard. Otabek smiled to himself and leaned down to place a gentle kiss atop Yuri’s forehead. Like an electric shock, his head jerked back. Where had that come from? When Otabek looked back down at the sleeping tiger to see if he had woken, he could have sworn that the creases in his forehead had disappeared, but maybe that was just him projecting.

  
He shook his head, reminding himself that he was here for Yuri. That not even two days ago, his Yura experienced one of the worst moments of his life. He thanked the Powers That Be, or whoever was up there, that his Yura was here and safe, that no one had died. Carefully, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he reached a certain name. Typing out a short text, he put his phone away and shut his eyes, still intertwined with Yuri.

 

A couple of rooms away, a silver-haired man pulled out his phone as he received the quacking alert that he had gotten a text message.

  
“Who is it?” his husband asked, glancing over.

  
“It’s him. He says that Yurio is going to be okay.”

  
His counterpart smiled. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank my awesome beta, Rachel!  
> If you don't leave kudos, please comment as to why so I can get better. If you do leave kudos, please tell me what I did well!  
> Tumblr: yuriplijetskis

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta, Rachel! Thank you for catching my mistakes and helping me with my comma-dysfunction.
> 
> This is my first multi-chapter work so please leave critiques and comments! Thank you.  
> 


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